Prologue: The end of Summer
by Chrin
Summary: This is the first chapter about my OC, Natsuki- who is not introduced yet. it shows how she came to be.


My fire had died. My hopes had fled. I could only hope my successor would be able to defeat them.

It had been winter. He invaded, with his heavily armed troops, and massacred my people. The lich- who rode on the north wind, had decided to spread his reign of terror over my lands- after conquering fall and spring. He who rode his frozen chariot across the earth had finally taken on his rival- laying waste to all in his path. He stepped down from the northern wind, landing on the green terrain with a thud, his metal chains clinking. Every step he took, he got closer to me, his unliving army trampling the red flowers and green grass. When they came across the villages, they slaughtered my people, slowly and painfully… eating their souls and raising more solider from their corpses. Their icy breath pierced the air, freezing the morning dew on the branches, the bugs on the trees, the bees in the air. Approaching me at the crack of dawn, they threw their lances at me without warning, and attacked me with the same maliciousness that they had hurt my people with. Except this time, my own people, those who had been slaughtered, were fighting with them to kill me, against their will, an undead mindless slave who would never reach salvation.

It has been a month since that day. I had to kill my own people before my eyes, to harm their mutilated bodies, in order to protect myself and the remainders of the realm. They killed me slowly, wearing me away bit by bit, making it so my death would be slow and painful instead of swift and welcoming. They clipped my wings, preventing me from any hopes of escape. They slashed at my talons, cutting them free from my body. All that was left was a stump, and the slowly tore at my heart, day and night, but refusing to cut off my head, so I would continue to be in pain. Although my fiery breath scorched many of his soldiers, they still cut away at my flesh.

Neither of us are immortal, rather, we are each half. He can not die of unnatural causes, yet I can not die of natural ones. He is also weak to the powers of fire, and I to the powers of water. Winter has not waged war on us for thousands of years... so it seems that my long reign has come to an end.

In my last moments, one of the puppet corpses broke free of her spell, the rebellious soul taking control of their stiff limbs once again. they stabbed me through the heart so my spirit might be free, so my days of torture might end. I burst into flames, burning my savior along with me as our souls were released from our prison-like bodies. a smile curved around my burning beak as the cleansing washed over me, and my soul flew into heaven.

My ashes settled, and I watched anxiously, trying to find the new king of summer. yet despite my wishes, he would not appear. Where was he? why wouldn't he show himself?

The ashes blew away on a lifeless breeze, the lich laughing maniacally with a twisted grin. the ashes left no one, left nothing behind- no new ruler, nothing to save my people. They blew up, away from the battle scene, away from the bloodstained earth. They swirled over the earth, pushed by god's breath, and settled on the ground, scattered.

the lich walked away from the throne, his cold steel boots clinking with every step, the sun setting behind him. he stood before his army, and raised his sword, a symbol of his triumph. the dead hooted and howled, praising their master in his glorious achievement. for they were no longer the citizens of summer- but the lifeless killers of winter.

Winter and his mindless ghouls destroyed summer- city after city. they killed the men, feeding on their corpses, turning them into more undead fighters. they captured the women and the children, encasing them in cages, hauling them throughout them everywhere they went, like a twisted circus of dying humans.

Winter conquered the last corner of summer, his wagons of slaves cramped and moaning. screams came from those wagons, children diseased and dying, starved and crippled from the fights.

As a celebration, winter made a huge bonfire- a rare and dangerous sight. they opened up a cage and took out a little boy, maybe 7 or 8 years old, and threw him onto the fire. the child screamed as his flesh was burned off his body, writhed and twisted, trying to escape the painful firey death. the Lich laughed again, his murderous eyes glinting with morbid pleasure. right before the boy died, his flesh burned off his body but his brain and heart still working, they took him off the fire and they let them live in the torturing agony. the flesh bubbled and blistered, infected and rotting, bugs crawling up and down the living carcass. the smell of burnt flesh tainted the air, the other captives screamed, and the undead army kicked the boy, making him beg for death, and then slowly sawed him apart, from the bottom up, into thin slices.

this was the end. this was the beginning.  
Winter had come.


End file.
